


you're gonna go far kid

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman Beyond 2.0 (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Body Shots, Comment Fic, Drunk Sex, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's spring break and the crime rate in Gotham is down. Terry should be on a beach somewhere, not walking around Dick's loft half-naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're gonna go far kid

“Not that I mind you letting yourself in to train at all hours, “ Dick says, quirking an eyebrow as he walks into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, eyes lingering for a moment on a shirtless Terry draped over his couch watching television. “But don’t you have class?”

“Nope,” Terry says and stretches out, arms and legs spilling over the sides of the sofa. “Spring break. No class for a week.”

“Ah,” Dick says with an heir of nostalgia. “Spring break.”

Terry sits up and smirks, nails dragging over his chest to scratch an itch. “Is this going to be another one of those ‘back in my day’ things?”

“Back in my day,” Dick grins ruefully, then laughs. “No, I”ll spare you the sordid details. But seriously, shouldn’t you be out dancing or doing body shots off some girl whose name you don’t know instead of hanging around my loft watching cartoons?”

“Aw,” Terry smirks. “That’s just a normal Friday night for me.”

Dick just laughs, doesn’t say _kid, I know what your normal Friday nights are like. I’m usually the one patching you up after._ He watches Terry stretch again, eyes catching on a long scar down his abdomen that disappears into the waistband of his shorts, quickly tearing his eyes away when Terry looks away from the tv at him.

“It’s cool, right?” He asks. “If I hang out here for a while? I mean, my mom took Max to the shore for the week. I wasn’t expecting the weird lull in criminal activity so I told her I wouldn’t be able to go, and --”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. There’s no one at the dorms and no one at home and as much as Terry tries to keep tabs on his social circle, Dick knows things aren’t the same for him anymore. He spends most of his nights in the suit, narrowly avoiding death, and when he does manage to get a night off and tries to salvage something of a social life, he generally ends up asleep on someone’s couch or passed out on a table in the clubs he used to live in. It scares Dick, how detached Terry’s getting from the normal teenage life he was so adamant about keeping separate from his duties at Batman in the beginning. He wants to encourage him to go out, find his friends and get drunk, make some bad decisions and just _live_ while he’s got the chance. But he looks at him, tired lines on his face and tell-tale scars on his body that remind Dick too much of some of his own, finally relaxing for the first time in months, and he thinks maybe this is enough for him now. 

“Of course it is,” Dick finally says. “Mi casa, etc.”

“Schway,” Terry grins, then hops to his feet. “You’re the best.” He scurries around the loft until he finds his shirt and pulls it on over his head. “But you’ve got like, pickle relish and two potatoes in your fridge, dude. I’m gonna run get a pizza or something. I’m a growing boy, you know.”

Dick lingers on the broad stretch of Terry’s shoulders when he turns around, remembers how scrawny and insignificant he looked when he first started putting on the suit. He remembers the terror that nearly paralyzed him every night and the nightmares he’d had about having to bury another one of Bruce’s kids, or worse, and how it had presented itself as anger for so long. He looks at Terry now, filled out with muscle from training and just natural growth from getting older, taller and broader in all the right places, and he’s so different now from that punk kid who broke into the cave and stole the suit right out from under Bruce’s nose, so much older than nineteen that it breaks Dick’s heart just to look at him sometimes.

Then sometimes he looks back at Dick with that smile on his face and Dick doesn’t see a trace of Bruce anywhere on him, thinks _maybe this one’s gonna make it._ He knows it’s a dangerous thing to think, _no one_ in this life ever really makes it, but maybe Terry is different. He’s got things going for him that the rest of them never had. And he’s got him. Maybe that will be enough.

 

***

 

Terry returns half an hour later, balancing a pizza box in one hand, holding a paper sack up under the other arm. Dick helps him out by taking the pizza from him and setting it down on the coffee table in front of the tv.

“Ugh, pineapple?” He makes a face.

“Hey,” Terry says. “Don’t hate on the pineapple.”

Then he sets the paper bag down on the counter and Dick’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees the six pack he pulls out. 

“What?” Terry grins. “You’re the one who said I should be getting drunk.”

And yes, Dick supposes he did say something like that, but he meant Terry should be getting drunk with his _friends_ , with people his own age, not an old, lonely, one-eyed man whose knees creak every time he stands up. 

“Come on,” Terry says, bringing two beers over to the couch and handing him one. “Don’t make me drink alone, man. That’d just be sad.”

Dick sighs and takes the beer from Terry, uses his shirt to open it and brings it to his mouth. It tastes like shit mostly, but it’s been years since Dick’s drank anything besides straight bourbon on ice, and Terry seems to enjoy it, so Dick grabs a slice of pizza and leans back, watching Terry pull his legs up under him and laugh at the television.

Dick’s got a pretty decent buzz going on by the time they finish up the beers, but nothing too impressive. Terry, however, looks a little pink in his cheeks and his smile is more lopsided than usual and when he talks to Dick about the show they’re watching or complains when they run out of pizza his words blend together a little, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey,” he says when the show goes off, slapping his hand down on Dick’s thigh when he pulls his legs out from under him and slides off the couch. “I know!”

He bumps into the coffee table a little when he gets up and walks back into the kitchen, pulling a tall bottle out of the paper sack he’d brought in earlier and a couple of more things Dick can’t see, shuffling into the kitchen for a minute before he comes back into the living room, bottle of tequila under one arm and a plate of lime wedges and salt in his other hand.

Dick lifts one eyebrow up at him. “What’s this?”

He _knows_ what it is, that’s not it. He spent enough time with the Titans that he can still remember the taste of salt on Roy’s hip, Donna sucking the lime juice off his tongue, but he doesn’t know why Terry’s bringing it all out here. 

“It’s spring break,” Terry grins, pouring two shot glasses full of tequila. “And I’ve never done body shots, if you can believe it.”

“I don’t,” Dick says. And maybe it’s because he’s buzzed and that always plays havoc with his ability to stamp down the inappropriate thoughts inside his head, but he can’t look at Terry right now and imagine he hasn’t done this before, shirt off in some dark, loud club, some girl’s mouth on him. Or maybe some guy’s. 

“Believe it,” Terry grins, handing Dick a shot glass, then clinks them together and downs his in one go, slamming it back down on the coffee table. “Guess you’re going to have to show me how it’s done.”

Dick stares at Terry’s mouth, still wet with liquor and where he’d licked his lips after, throws the shot back. “What are you doing, McGinnis?” 

“Body shots,” Terry drawls, grabbing Dick’s hand and sprinkling a line of salt over his wrist. “Keep up.” 

He downs a shot, then with his fingers still tightly circled around Dick’s wrist, leans forward and drags his tongue over his skin, licking away the salt. 

“ _Terry,_ ” Dick says.

Terry looks up at him, licks the salt from his lips. “Oops,” he says. “Forgot the lime.”

Dick stares at he picks up a wedge of lime from the plate and sucks it into his mouth, watches the juice from it run down his chin. 

“Jesus christ,” Dick mutters. This isn’t -- he really shouldn’t have let Terry talk him into drinking with him, shouldn’t have even let him _stay_ , but it’s a little late for that now, with Terry kneeling on the carpet in front of him, with the tequila making Dick warm all over, his fingers itching to reach out and touch the little granules of salt still in the corner of Terry’s mouth. 

He _shouldn’t_ , but --

“That’s not how you do it,” he says instead and gets down on the floor in front of Terry, plucks a lime wedge from the plate and places it in Terry’s mouth, pulls the collar of his t-shirt to the side and sprinkles a line of salt on his collarbone. Then he pours another shot and tips it back, ducks his head and licks the salt from Terry’s skin, tongue dragging over the curve of the bone and into the little dip, leans back and looks at Terry for a second before he leans in and sucks the slice of lime out of his mouth.

“There,” Dick says, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth to wipe away the salt and lime juice. “Now you know how to --”

Terry’s hand comes up around his neck so suddenly that he’s honestly too startled to react, the alcohol dulling his senses and reflexes, and before he knows it Terry’s mouth is pressed against him, tangy and salty and wet and when his tongue darts out Dick’s mouth parts willingly, instinctively, to let him in. 

Terry kisses him without finesse, without any kind of patience, like this is the only chance he’ll get and he’s trying to get the most out of it. His fingers tighten in the hairs at the back of Dick’s neck and he fucks his tongue into his mouth, making impatient noises against him until Dick grabs his hips and drags him up into his lap. His knees are going to hate him in the morning, but he doesn’t care so much about that right now, only about the way Terry is sucking on his tongue, the way his fingers dig into his shoulders so good it hurts, the way he’s grinding his hips down against him. 

“Terry,” he says when Terry pulls back to kiss his jaw, mouth at his neck, scrape his teeth over his shoulder. Then he starts pulling at Dick’s shirt, trying to get it off. “ _McGinnis._ ”

“Hm,” Terry asks, fingers skimming over Dick’s stomach, sucking a bruise into the side of his mouth. Jesus christ, when was the last time he had a fucking _hickey_?

“We probably shouldn’t,” Dick says. That’s not what he was going to say, but the more Terry grinds on him, the more he feels his mouth, hot and wet against his skin, the less Dick can remember about how this isn’t a good idea. 

“Probably shouldn’t do a lot,” Terry murmurs, then he tugs his own shirt over his head and all Dick can do is stare. “More shots,” Terry says and hands Dick the bowl of salt before he sticks a slice of lime in his mouth.

“You’re going to kill me, kid,” Dick mutters to himself and slides Terry out of his lap and onto his back, stares down at him probably a little too long, and sprinkles salt around his navel. He watches Terry as he downs the shot then leans forward, dips his tongue into Terry’s navel, then drags his tongue over his belly, so tight and hard with muscle, and when Terry whimpers a little above him Dick sits up and leans over his body, dips his head to suck on the lime while it’s still in Terry’s mouth, getting juice everywhere. Dick sucks it into his own mouth and spits it to the side, replaces it with his mouth and sucks on Terry’s tongue, licks the corners of his mouth and down his chin, chasing the lime juice. 

“Fuck,” Terry says, laughing a little. “Fuck. Your turn.” Then he’s pushing Dick away, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him to straddle him, finally managing to get his shirt off. He forgoes the shot glass this time, just pouring tequila straight into Dick’s navel and leans down to lap it up with his tongue, chasing it when it drips down his stomach, pausing at the waistband of Dick’s jeans, the fine hairs there tickling his nose.

“Terry,” Dick warns, but then Terry’s pressing his mouth to him and Dick can feel the heat of his mouth even through the denim.

“I want to,” Terry says, fumbling with the button and the fly. “God, I want to.”

Dick doesn’t really have time to argue, or reason with him, or do anything really before Terry’s mouth is on him, swallowing him down, lips curving around him like he was _made_ to do this. Terry hums around him and it’s all Dick can do not to get his hands full of that hair and push inside, let himself take what he’s been wanting for months, even longer if he’s being completely honest with himself. 

He never wanted to be like Bruce and that included many things, not just the job. Terry’s young and he might be Batman but he’s still impressionable, still doesn’t know what he wants. Or maybe Dick’s thinking of himself at that age. Maybe Terry, moaning around his cock like it’s the best thing he’s ever done, knows _exactly_ what he wants. Maybe that’s why he spends more time in Dick’s loft, sweaty and half-naked, than he spends anywhere else. Maybe that’s why he’d rather be here, getting drunk with him, than out with his friends, fucking random people who don’t even _know_ him, wouldn’t protect him with their _life._

“Oh god, Terry,” Dick groans, reaching down to touch his face, rub his thumb across his mouth where it’s stretched out around him. Terry looks up at him, bats his eyelashes, and hollows his cheeks and Dick touches his face, pushes into his mouth and feels Terry’s moan around him. It hasn’t been all that long since he’s been with someone, but it’s been years since it’s felt like _this_ , the right combination of wrong and safe and it’s too much too soon, knows he’s not going to last very long at all, especially with all the alcohol in his blood, but it still sneaks up him. He tries tapping on Terry’s shoulder to warn him but Terry only takes it as encouragement, only takes him deeper, sucks harder, then all Dick can do is reach out, grab a fistful of Terry’s hair and grunt as he spills down Terry’s throat. 

Terry sucks him down and swallows, licks him clean, then leans back onto his heels and drags his hand over his mouth. 

“Come here,” Dick growls and drags Terry up into his lap, pushes his shorts off his hips and gets his hand around him, lets Terry wrap one arm around his neck, gasping and panting next to his ear as he fucks into Dick’s hand. “I got you, Terry,” Dick says, grabbing Terry’s chin with his free hand and kisses Terry, swallows down every sweet little whimper and moan, louder and more desperate with each breath. Terry comes with a cry buried into the crook of Dick’s shoulder and shakes in his arms like he’s coming apart, digs his fingers deep into the muscles, and Dick thinks his name has never sounded so _filthy_ on someone’s lips before.

Terry stays wrapped around him for a few minutes, just breathing heavy against his skin, his fingers idly brushing the short hairs at the back of his neck, until Dick says, “You good?”

“Hmm,” Terry says against him, then he’s pulling back to look at him, and he looks fucking _wrecked_. God, Dick is a terrible person. “Ugh,” Terry says, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You’ve got that look,” Terry says, frowning. “The look you used to get every time I’d go out as Batman. Like you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Terry,” Dick sighs.

“I _know_ what I’m doing,” Terry tells him. “When I’m in the suit,” he says. “And when I’m with you. Okay?”

“McGinnis,” Dick says and runs his hand up Terry’s back. He wants to kiss him again. He wants to take him to bed and spread him out, put his mouth over every inch of skin that hasn't been ruined yet. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Nope,” Terry grins and he gets up, reaches for Dick's hand. “It’s a _great_ idea.”

 

 

.


End file.
